The Graveyard
by sylc
Summary: Elflings Lindir and Melpomaen get caught playing in the graveyard of Imladris. A very cross Glorfindel delivers them to their uncle - Erestor.


It was the middle of the night in Imladris and the scholar Erestor, who liked to work in his study at such hours so as to avoid being disturbed, was rather surprised to hear a knock on his door. "Enter," he called.

The door opened a crack and a rather cross-looking head poked through the gap; the head belonged to Lord Glorfindel. Erestor frowned. If his mind served him correctly, Glorfindel usually led patrols on the borders of the realm at this time of night.

"Erestor," Glorfindel said. "May I disturb you for a few minutes?"

Erestor nodded and outstretched a hand towards the chair on the other side of his desk in silent invitation. "Of course. Is all well?"

"Not really, no," Glorfindel said, as he pushed open the door and stepped into the study. Erestor eyes widened. Attached to each of Glorfindel's gloved hands and held firmly by the back of their collars was a little elfling. One of the elflings was wearing an orc's helmet and breastplate over a pair of muddy pyjamas. The other was wearing a similarly muddy nightshirt and a big feathery helmet that Erestor recalled having last seen decorating Elrond's head at the end of the last age.

"Your nephews... Lindir... and Melpomaen," Glorfindel said in a very sour voice, releasing the elflings and pushing them towards the desk. He kicked the door shut behind him. One of the elflings, the one dressed as a little orc, now ran around the desk and climbed up onto Erestor's lap with a loud sob. The other - Melpomaen, who was a little older than Lindir - took off of his helmet, tucked it under his arm, and stood there beside the chair on the other side of the desk, his face very pale.

"What... where... Lindir! Melpomaen!" Erestor finally got out, wincing when one of the many spikes that poked out of the orc helmet jabbed him in the cheek. He pulled the orc helmet from the crying elfling's head. "What were you doing?" he asked, brushing back tousled hair from Lindir's face, which was red with tears.

"Glorfindel slapped me!" was the moaned response. "He slapped me!" Then the elfling promptly wrapped his arms around Erestor's neck, buried his head in Erestor's chest and said no more for a time. Erestor looked up questioningly at Glorfindel, who exhaled heavily and came over to sit down with a thump on the chair.

"They are lucky I did not kill them," Glorfindel said. "They were playing in the graveyard. At this time of night, especially on a starless night, all I could see was the silhouette of their helmets against the lights of the house!"

Erestor looked at Melpomaen, who nodded agreeably in affirmation of Glorfindel's words. "What were you both doing in the graveyard?"

"Playing," Melpomaen said. "Hide and seek, then elves and orcs, then Lindir thought he heard a noise so we set out to stalk it. Then Glorfindel came and caught us. That was when he slapped us."

Glorfindel looked sourly at Erestor. "You see?"

"That was no reason to slap them," Erestor said, reaching around Lindir to undo the stays that held the breastplate in place.

"Erestor, they were digging in the raised graves!" Glorfindel said sharply. "If that is not a reason to slap an elfling, what is? Children should not be allowed to play in graveyards! Why have you not taught them to stay away from there?"

"Well..." Erestor tried.

"And for that reason, what were they doing up so late at night?"

"Lindir could not sleep," Melpomaen supplied. "So he came into my room. And then we got bored so we went down to the barracks and found the armour."

Erestor sighed and pulled the breastplate off of Lindir's head. The elfling gave another little choking sob as he snuggled back up to him. Erestor stroked the back of his head.

"Melpomaen," he said, looking at the other elfling. "Why were you and Lindir digging in the raised graves? I have told you before that you should not disturb the dead so you already know that you should not have been playing in there, but why digging? You baffle me!"

"Well," Melpomaen looked down at his bare feet and scuffed one of them against the floor. "You said that the bodies were only sleeping," he said, looking up. "So we tried to wake one of them up. His name was Erestor too according to the tombstone, so we wanted to see if he looked like you."

Erestor snorted and chuckling he lowered his head to bury his face in Lindir's tangled hair. When he finally lifted it, he abruptly straightened it when he found his gaze met by Glorfindel's distinctly unamused one.

"Melpomaen, Lindir," Erestor said then. "Lindir, are you listening to me?"

"Mm-hm," came the sleepy response.

"When I said the bodies were sleeping, I was lying," he said. "The bodies are actually dead."

There was a pause.

Then Melpomaen asked, "What do dead bodies look like, Uncle?"

"They look... they look a bit like what goes onto the compost heaps," Erestor said. He pulled a face. "Not very nice at all."

Melpomaen smiled slightly and nodded. Beside him, Glorfindel smiled slightly too, as if with resignation.

"I like compost," Lindir piped up suddenly, raising his head.

"You would not like dead body compost," Erestor said, stroking his face. "Besides, it is very impolite to disturb a dead body."

"But if it dead, then it does not matter if I disturb it. Compost does not mind me digging through it!" Lindir said.

"Yes, Lindir, but compost is different from dead bodies. They are the bodies of people who are dear to us. Of friends. And we put a lot of work into arranging their bodies and putting them in such graves as a mark of respect to them. So in future, both of you..." And now he looked meaningfully between the elflings, "...I want you to both promise me that you will never play in a graveyard and disturb the dead again."

Both elflings nodded. "Yes, Uncle," Lindir said. "Yes, Uncle, I promise," Melpomaen said.

"Good," Erestor said.

"Lindir," Glorfindel suddenly said, "we also bury animals who were close to us in graveyards."

Lindir frowned, as if puzzled by this piece of information. There was another pause. Then Lindir said, "So should I have buried that fly I squashed in my bedroom last week?"

Erestor shot a sour look at Glorfindel, who shot him a confused look, then returned his attention to Lindir. "No, Lindir," he reassured, and leaning forward, he set the elfling down on the floor. Then he looked at Melpomaen. "Melpomaen, I want you to take Lindir back to bed and to go back to bed yourself. Leave the armour here; I will take it back to the barracks in the morning."

After the elflings had left, Erestor frowned at Glorfindel. "Did you have to raise the issue of dead animals?" he asked.

Glorfindel shrugged and rose. "Well," he said, "they were playing in the animal part of the graveyard. Erestor was the name of my last horse."


End file.
